Page 92 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

“That’s the thing,” she said. “The girl just walked like she was supposed to.”

“Was she alone?”

Stella shrugged. “I didn’t see anyone else. Then the police showed up so someone must’ve called it in.”

“Did you see the older girl when the police arrived?”

“Yeah. She was just standing there with blood on her shirt.”

“Did you ever see Todd with anyone else?”

“He had a girlfriend for a while, but I haven’t seen her in months.”

“Do you know her name?”

“Whitney Pittman. I know because she was getting mail over there. She wasn’t supposed to be living there without my written consent. But when I called Todd on it, he claimed she just stayed over occasionally.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know the girlfriend’s address, do you?”

“I do. Hold on.” She walked over to a small desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to JP. “I asked Todd to give me her address so I could verify it. I didn’t take the time to check it out because she left not long after. But it’s not far from here.”

“You’re a sharp lady.”

She smiled for the first time.

“By the way, I didn’t see any of this information in the police report. Did you talk to the police?”

“No. Because I got a phone call from my brother-in-law about my sister. She was rushed to the hospital. I jumped in my car and drove to Arizona. I just got back last night.”

“I’m sure you’ll be hearing from them.” JP took a step toward the door. “I appreciate your time and information.”

She was already pulling the door closed.

JP walked back to his truck, visualizing unpleasant scenes. Then he recalled that Bay had said, He doesn’t stop.

That wasn’t fear talking. That was experience.

JP called Detective Nelson and left him a message with the information he had just gathered.

Chapter 34

Sunday afternoon

The address led him to a second-floor apartment over a row of small shops, a nail salon, a check-cashing place, and a closed-down dry cleaner.

JP climbed the narrow staircase and knocked. It didn’t take long. The woman who answered looked to be in her thirties and seemed tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. She studied him before speaking.

“Yes?”

“Are you Whitney Pittman?”

“Who’s asking?”

“JP Torn,” he said. “I’m a PI, and I’m looking into the death of Todd Maddox. I was told you knew him.”

A flash of anger in her eyes. “I used to.”

“I’d appreciate a few minutes.”